Serena’s laughter was a sharp, grating sound that cut through the cavernous foyer, mocking the soft, agonized gasps escaping from Ethan.

The wine cellar beneath the Blackwood estate was not a place for fine vintages. Built during Prohibition, the sub-basement consisted of reinforced concrete walls, damp stone floors, and soundproof oak doors that had witnessed the disappearance of dozens of Victor’s rivals.

Serena was sitting on a cold steel chair in the center of the room, her hair tangled, her silk dress stained with damp grime from the walls. Two armed guards stood motionless by the steel door.

When the lock clicked and Victor walked in, Serena scrambled to her feet, her hands bound behind her back with heavy zip-ties.

"Victor! Victor, please!" she sobbed, her voice echoing off the concrete walls. "This is insane! You can't keep me here! My father knows I came to your house! If I don't call him by midnight, he'll send the police!"

Victor walked slowly to the small wooden table in the room and poured himself a glass of bourbon from a crystal decanter.

"Let him send the police," Victor said calmly, taking a slow sip. "Half the police department works for me. The other half works for judges I bought ten years ago."

"I am your fiancée!" Serena screamed, her tears black with smeared mascara. "We are getting married in two months! Our families are merging the shipping routes! You're going to throw all of that away over some orphan nanny's lies?!"

Victor pulled a sleek black smartphone from his pocket and tossed it onto the table between them.

"That is your personal phone, Serena," Victor said smoothly. "My tech team spent the last two hours breaking the encryption."

Serena’s breath hitched. The color drained from her cheeks once again.

"Page forty-two of your text logs," Victor continued, his tone conversational, as if he were reading a morning newspaper. "A conversation between you and your personal physician from three weeks ago. You were asking for high-dose sedatives that could be dissolved in milk."

"That... that was for my insomnia!" Serena lied frantically.

"Page sixty-eight," Victor cut her off, his voice dropping an octave, becoming colder than steel. "A message to your brother, Julian. I quote: 'Once the ring is on my finger, the brat will have an tragic accident. Victor will be too broken to care, and the Blackwood trust will fall entirely under my name within five years.'"

Serena sank back into the chair as if she had been shot through the chest. She couldn't speak. She couldn't lie. Her own words were staring back at her from the glowing screen.

"You didn't just hurt my son tonight, Serena," Victor said, setting his glass down with a heavy clink. "You were planning his murder."

"Victor... please..." Serena whimpered, dropping her head, her body trembling violently. "I was stupid... I was jealous! He's the son of that woman you loved! Every time I look at Ethan, I see her! I just wanted you to look at me!"

Victor walked over to her chair, stopping right in front of her. He reached down, grabbing her chin in an iron grip, forcing her face up.

"My late wife gave her life to bring Ethan into this world," Victor growled, his eyes burning with a dark, unholy fire. "You aren't fit to breathe the same air as her memory. And you aren't fit to touch the dirt on my nanny's shoes."

"What... what are you going to do to me?" Serena whispered in sheer terror.

"If I kill you tonight," Victor said flatly, "your father will declare war. My business routes will be disrupted, and my men will have to spend months cleaning up the Montigue family."

Serena’s eyes flickered with a desperate, pathetic spark of hope. "Yes! Yes, Victor! Think of the business! Let me go, I'll sign whatever you want, I'll leave Chicago—"

"I didn't say I was letting you go," Victor interrupted, a terrifying smile spreading across his face. "I said I wasn't killing you tonight."

He turned to Dante.

"Transfer her to the warehouse at the docks. Keep her alive on bread and water. And bring Arthur Montigue to my office tomorrow morning at seven."